


The Fear of Rejection

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 22:46:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13041078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: Mythra asks Brighid a question. Meanwhile, Mòrag and Zeke arm wrestle. (some minor spoilers from chapter 5)





	The Fear of Rejection

**Author's Note:**

> i love that Mòrag is actually super competitive and hates to lose, she's adorable like that. anyway i felt like writing something silly

Inside the Argentum Trade Guild, up the stairs, up another flight of stairs, there’s quite the commotion in Rumbletum Canteen. The air is thick with shouts and the frenzied exchange of gold, the Nopon gleefully milking as much as they can from the gathered crowd.

At the center of it all, seated at a small table, are Mòrag and Zeke locked in an intense arm wrestling match. The table itself trembles from the sheer force being exerted and sweat rolls down both contestants’ temples, so focused that they seem all but oblivious to those cheering them on.

At the fringe of the crowd, Mythra and Brighid had found a place to sit to keep an eye on them without being jostled by excited elbows. They can’t even see Pandoria anymore, though she’d no doubt managed to keep her spot beside Zeke secured all this while.

“This is ridiculous. It’s been an hour, right?” Mythra impatiently taps her fingers against their table, expression sour. “I can’t believe their arms haven’t fallen off yet.”

“Yes, well, I doubt either of them would concede defeat any time soon. Especially not Lady Mòrag,” Brighid says.

“Don’t tell me you’re fine with all this.”

“It’s nice to see her enjoying herself.”

“If that’s what you call it…” She’d seen the look on Mòrag’s face before the crowd got too thick; her glare was murderous enough to make any other man drop dead. Not Zeke, though. He’d been glaring right back, although with a big toothy grin. Mythra cranes her neck to try to see through the mob. Aegaeon and Dromarch had taken it upon themselves to keep a clear circle around Mòrag and Zeke, but there’s still too many people to get a clear view from where they are. Some Nopon bounce by, calling out bets.

“What an event. The Special Inquisitor of Mor Ardain against the Crown Prince of Tantal,” Brighid puts a hand to her cheek. “Two of Alrest’s most powerful Drivers in a test of raw strength. It sure it something, isn’t it?”

“Sure is, I guess,” Mythra says. “I actually didn’t expect Mòrag to last this long. Zeke’s arms have gotta be twice as thick as hers.”

Through the loud whooping and shouting, they can dimly hear Rex, Nia, and Tora cheering on as well. It’s so damn lively that Mythra almost feels irritated, but they really are all having such a good time that she can’t bring it upon herself to yell at Mòrag and Zeke to just call it quits. What a stupid contest. _Arm wrestling_. Sparring with their Blades would have made much more sense than this.

She yawns and lets her mind wander off for the sake of trying to kill the time. They could be stuck here for another hour, or two hours, or twelve hours as far as she knows. No doubt the Drivers’ muscles would die first before their willpower.

“Does Pyra not want to watch anymore?” Brighid asks.

“Oh she does, she just dozed off about half an hour ago. I’m letting her sleep it off. The past few days have been kinda rough on her.” Mythra waves a hand dismissively, but it’s telling enough that she’s still here, being bored, instead of waking Pyra up and making her come out in her place. “I’m sure the match will still be going on by the time she comes to.”

“Hah, I don’t doubt that. But, of course, the outcome is clear. Lady Mòrag will ultimately be the victor.”

There’s something about the look on Brighid’s face when she says it that actually piques Mythra’s curiosity and makes her recall something else. For a moment she considers holding her tongue, but it’s a short-lived consideration.

“Hey, Brighid… remember that conversation you had with Pyra back at the Praetorium? When you said you know what it’s like to be afraid of rejection?”

Brighid’s eyebrows raise ever so slightly and she turns to Mythra. “What about it?”

The din of the crowd seems to fade into the background. Mythra leans forward in her seat. “So tell me more about that.”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business, Mythra.”

“You made it my business when you bugged Pyra about… talking to Rex. Don’t be a hypocrite.”

She looks back over to Mòrag and Zeke’s general direction, but it’s clear that Brighid is no longer focused on them. She actually looks genuinely troubled that Mythra feels sort of bad for suddenly prodding the topic out of nowhere.

But, she lacks the sensitive tact that Pyra possesses, so she outright asks: “Is it Aegaeon?”

Brighid actually snorts. “What? No, of course not, he’s just a friend.”

“So it _is_ Mòrag.”

“You certainly jumped to that conclusion fairly quickly.”

“But I’m right.”

The Nopon are still hollering for people to make their bets. They can catch bits and pieces of the excited conversation, about how handsome the Crown Prince is, about the Special Inquisitor’s incredible power, but it’s all just pointless babbling in the end. Brighid leans her elbows against the table and quietly sighs.

“Lady Mòrag is… a remarkable woman. Even before she became the Special Inquisitor, on the day she awakened me, I knew there was a great depth of potential within her. She was so young, yet so strong and assured.”

“Well, obviously, otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to resonate with your Core Crystal.”

“Right you are,” Brighid half-smiles. “She was raised to become the Empress of Mor Ardain, you know. Despite knowing that taking the throne was no longer her destiny, she never faltered in her desire to become someone that the people could depend on for protection. That’s one of her many qualities that immediately drew me to her.”

Mythra hums under her breath in thought. She hadn’t been expecting Brighid to be this straightforward, truthfully, and now she almost wants to rouse Pyra to make her take over the conversation. “So… you’re afraid she wouldn’t return your feelings.”

“Lady Mòrag is wholeheartedly dedicated to the Empire and His Majesty. She has no time to deal with such… frivolous matters.”

“Uhh, she’s been arm wrestling Zeke for over an hour now.”

“… You have a point there.”

Mythra shakes her head. “Come on, Brighid, I know you’re not this stupid. Don’t keep it all to yourself. Mòrag isn’t the kind of person who would brush off your feelings so easily, even I know that.”

“Don’t be presumptuous! I’ve known her far longer than any of you.”

“ _Exactly._ So what’re you waiting for?”

Right then, the crowd creates a new uproar on a whole new level that makes even the floor rumble. More people are wandering into the Canteen to see what the fuss is all about, only adding more to the cacaphony, and Brighid suddenly stands. “A Driver and Blade are one in body and soul…”

Mythra cocks her head. “My words, but now they’re yours.”

“I see, now.”

“You always did. I know you did.”

Somehow, effortlessly, Brighid is able to clear a path for herself through the wall of people to the very center. Various veins in Zeke’s neck are bulging and Mòrag still looks like she wants to slaughter an entire tribe of Gogols with her bare hands, but her arm slips just enough to elicit a new roar from the crowd when she spots Brighid approaching her.

“B… Brighid?”

“Hey, finally come to cheer on your Driver, huh?!” Pandoria waves to her. “Come on, come on, it’s still really close! Alright, Princey, you can do it! Go, go, go!”

“Brighid…” Aegaeon looks worried, as usual. “I fear Lady Mòrag may be reaching her limit…”

She strides up behind Mòrag and grips the back of her seat, leaning over to speak in her ear. “Not yet, Lady Mòrag. I _know_ you will win. For the Empire!”

Mòrag grits her teeth. “For Mor Ardain…!” She pushes Zeke’s arm back, both now at a ninety degree angle once more.

“For His Majesty!”

“For Niall…!”

Another inch. Someone in the crowd shrieks. Sweat drenches Mòrag’s collar.

“For… me!”

Mòrag’s ears immediately turn bright red, and her eyes widen, but she does not falter. Not at all.

“For you, Brighid—! _Hrraaaahhhh—!!_ ”

With one mighty roar, she _slams_ Zeke’s arm down and straight through the table, bits of wood scattering everywhere. Zeke howls and writhes on the floor, clutching his arm.

“Aauuugh! The splinters! _The splinters!!_ Pandy, get the tweezers—!”

The crowd is hushed, now. Mòrag, breathing hard, shakily stands, and raises her fist in the air.

The resulting noise from the crowd is enough to stir the Argentum Titan above them, as it dimly wonders what had caused such a disturbance.

Mòrag, in spite of her body feeling like it had died several times and then returned from the dead, sweeps Brighid off her feet, caught in the sheer ecstasy of a hard-won victory, and kisses her fully right on the mouth. The Titan is definitely stirring now in response to the hollering of the crowd, flying just a bit higher above the Cloud Sea than usual.

Mythra rolls her eyes, but smiles. What sheer, joyful nonsense.


End file.
